


Do You Remember, Baby?

by in_deepest_blue



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1970s, 70s Crowley, Dancing, Disco Crowley, F/F, Female-Presenting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Male-Presenting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Male-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27128911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in_deepest_blue/pseuds/in_deepest_blue
Summary: In the 1970s, when the London underworld sets its sights on Crowley’s favorite disco, Aziraphale and Crowley go undercover to save the day. A cheesy, over-the-top homage to disco that’s inspired by the 2020 K-pop song “When We Disco" and written for the Ineffable Con 2's zine.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16
Collections: The Ineffable Con 2





	Do You Remember, Baby?

**Author's Note:**

> Can't really call myself a K-pop fan, let alone stan, because I usually discover songs by osmosis (thanks to my friends who are very much into K-pop!), but J.Y. Park and Sunmi's ["When We Disco"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zrsBjYukE8s) got stuck in my head recently. 
> 
> Somehow, the music video and the reviews of it (basically calling it an unapologetically cheesy, over-the-top tribute to the '70s) inspired me to write this. And yes, I've pretty much written this fic along the same vein: self-indulgent campy fluff that serves as a love letter to all the fun and flamboyance of the disco genre — as well as, of course, Aziraphale and Crowley!

“Hello, Crowley? It’s me, Aziraphale.” The Principality’s voice was soft, almost as if he were unsure whether he ought to be calling. Things had been a little awkward since 1967, after all — it was nothing like 1862, but both the angel and the demon weren’t quite sure where they stood.

“Yes, I know it’s you. What do you want?” Crowley answered snippily, though he instantly winced at how much harsher that’d come out. Sure, being told that he went too fast stung like hell, but that was no reason to take things out on the love of his life. Shifting to a gentler tone, Crowley backtracked. “Sorry. What is it?”

“Well…” Aziraphale began, gingerly, “word on the streets in Soho is that the London underworld has its eye on that discotheque of yours that you love so much. Midnight Fever, wasn’t it?” 

“...yeah, I know,” the demon replied glumly. “And it’s just ‘disco,’ by the way. Hang on—” he spluttered, “—h-how d’you know I like that place?”

“...I see you making your way there sometimes, you know,” the angel deadpanned. “Anyway, aren’t you going to do something about it?”

Midnight Fever was Crowley’s favorite haunt for a reason — or, rather, several reasons. For one, the demon had nothing but respect for humans who had a dream and knew how to hustle. Midnight Fever’s owner wasn’t some wealthy socialite, but an average person with a passion for music and dance. It wasn’t a tiny disco, but it also wasn’t as spacious as the posh nightclubs where people went to see and be seen. Rather, it was the kind of place where you could just let loose and be yourself. Some regulars would even say that it felt like home. 

Crowley knew that an independent business like this would need all the luck that it could get to survive London’s cutthroat nightlife scene, so, through a demonic miracle of its own, he made sure that business would remain booming, and that the disco would become popular — but not _too_ popular (he was a demon; he could afford to be a little bit selfish). But Crowley had the misfortune of having his ideas backfire on him, and this time, it was no different: word had gotten around about this disco that was owned by a nobody, in a prime spot in Soho. Crowley should’ve realized that it was only a matter of time until the gangs of London would come knocking.

“Crowley? Hello? Are you still with me?”

“...yeah. Been trying to think of something. Can’t miracle the disco’s way out of this; don’t really want to get on my lot’s radar. They’re not control freaks when it comes to miracle usage; they don’t even check regularly. But they’re quite keen on that up-and-coming mobster who got the idea of taking over Midnight Fever. Hastur’s convinced the scumbag’s gonna be capable of even more heinous schemes in just five years,” the demon rambled.

“That puts you in a tight spot, indeed. Fortunately for you, if I were to thwart a rising star in the London underworld — and one whom Hastur, not you, is influencing — I’m quite sure I would receive a commendation…”

Realization dawned on Crowley. “Are you saying…”

There was a playful lilt to Aziraphale’s tone. “...that ultimately, good will always triumph over evil? Yes, precisely.” 

* * *

“Don’t stare at me like that; you’re making me self-conscious! Am I overdressed?” 

“Ngk—n-no, it’s not that, angel! Not that at all! You look g… gor…. nice. Yeah, that’s what I said. You look nice. Dressed just right for a disco.”

Tonight, they weren’t Aziraphale and Crowley, but “Azira” and “Toni.” Regardless of presentation, Aziraphale was generally capable of taking care of herself when backed into a corner — when she wasn’t getting herself into trouble, at least. Still, Crowley had insisted on tagging along. Considering how Aziraphale’s idea of contemporary culture was about a century behind, the angel would no doubt stick out like a sore thumb. 

Being a regular, Crowley didn’t want the other patrons to recognize him, so he and Aziraphale had agreed to present as women for this operation. Her shoulder-length, flaming-red hair hanging loose in soft curls, Crowley was dressed in a glittery, figure-hugging mini-dress with vertical red-and-black stripes. 

Aziraphale, too, was rather sparkly in her gold V-neck dress with detached sleeves. It was extremely rare for Aziraphale to present as female, and Crowley wasn’t even sure when she last saw the angel as a woman. But the sight of Aziraphale — those adorable blonde ringlets framing her face, her curvy figure, and her dress showing just the tiniest hint of cleavage — was enough to remind Crowley of just how _adorable_ the Principality was as a woman.

The angel gave a happy wiggle. “I wouldn’t want to do it all the time — my everyday look suits me just fine — but I do love dressing up!” _Damn it! For Someone’s sake! How could one angel be this charming?_ Crowley hoped that Aziraphale wouldn’t notice how flustered she was getting. Aziraphale had been so excited to plan this operation with the demon; one could be forgiven for surmising that the dress-up part was what made her so eager about going undercover at the disco. 

Seeing just how much the angel had poured her heart into planning this had dissipated any hurt Crowley still felt over 1967. It was comforting to know that they were, at least, still friends. Aziraphale had offered to swoop in to save Crowley’s favorite disco, and in her typical, needlessly complicated style, no less. The day they could have that picnic together was looking less like a pipe dream and more like a promise to hang on to. And, if only Crowley were able to read her angel’s mind, she would’ve sensed that the angel, too, was just as relieved that the tension between them had been broken.

“C’mon, angel, let’s dazzle the stage.” 

They made their way into the disco. As always, it was full of life. The center of activity was a dance floor illuminated by a glittering disco ball overhead and strobe lights. 

Seeing the crowd dancing as if in a frenzy — shaking their hips, shimmying, pointing at the ceiling — was enough to make Aziraphale momentarily freeze. “Crowley, I’m sorry to get cold feet at a time like this, but I’ve only ever done the gavotte! I’m not used to this be-bop. I knew it; we really should’ve practiced!”

“Shh, shh, you’ll be fine, angel,” Crowley reassured her, deigning not to correct Aziraphale. She gave Aziraphale some comforting strokes on the back once the angel gave her the okay; Aziraphale seemed to relax into Crowley’s touch. 

“‘S not like I’m a dancing queen either, y’know. But disco is all about liberation… being yourself and all that. That’s why the humans love disco so much. It’s not about fixed rules; screw that. Just dance to the rhythm intuitively, and soon you’ll find your own groove.”

“But…”

“This isn’t ballroom dancing, so no one really takes the lead. But look, why don’t I start, and you can just do what I do? If it makes you feel better, I’m pretty much just gonna be making the moves up as I go along. And then, if you wanna do your own thing, go right ahead.” 

“All right, we could try that.” And with that, Crowley pulled Aziraphale towards the dance floor. The demon began shaking her hips and swinging her arms around, and initially, all Aziraphale could do was watch, dumbfounded and in awe. She’d understood that these moves were fairly normal in the disco scene, but there was something rather tantalizing and sensual about seeing Crowley gyrate like that. Even though Crowley professed to be a terrible dancer, when it came to any moves that involved working those hips, she was a natural. She was a serpent, after all, and no amount of presenting as human could make her forget her basic serpentine qualities.

As the previous song faded into the next one, Aziraphale reluctantly tried dancing. She started out with small, uncertain moves, but sure enough, after a while, she was comfortable enough to just follow the beat. She even looked like she was starting to enjoy herself! This time, it was Crowley’s turn to be mesmerized at how positively angelic Aziraphale looked, dressed to the nines and glowing — not just because of the lights around them, but because she was starting to let her hair down and enjoy herself.

Soon, Crowley and Aziraphale found themselves moving in sync. Neither of them were particularly good at disco dancing, but there they were, grooving without a care in the world…

...when the doors burst open with a loud bang, startling everyone. Some burly gangsters forced their way into the disco, brusquely pushing their way to the dance floor. 

“Don’t mind us; just checkin’ out the vibe here,” one of them said. “Oh, just carry on.”

“About time,” Aziraphale muttered under her breath. Just as her informant had said, tonight, some gangsters had planned to show up as a way of marking their territory and asserting their dominance, so to speak. “It’s like a first warning of sorts,” the source had told her. “They won’t cut to the chase just yet; they just want to show who’s boss.” 

The gangsters circled the disco. Backing away from the dance floor, patrons shrank bank in discomfort and fear. Some made a run for the exit, while others made their presence as inconspicuous as possible, hoping the intimidating men would just go away. Aziraphale and Crowley still remained defiantly on the dance floor, earning the attention of the gangsters.

“And what do we have here? Two fine young things. Why don’t you come with us, hm?” One leered at Crowley and grabbed her by the arm. Crowley managed to yank herself free, but two other men made motions to snatch her up again.

Instantly, Aziraphale drew herself up. She was, after all, a Principality, and she was not about to let these scoundrels forget it. Bringing time to a standstill so that it was just her and Crowley facing off against the men, the angel’s voice boomed. “Don’t you dare lay a finger on her! Leave now, rethink your sorry lives, and never bother anyone affiliated with this nightclub again! Not its owners, not its employees, not its patrons — not a single soul. Are we clear?” 

The gangsters nodded mutely, paralyzed with fear. Aziraphale had not changed her appearance one bit, but despite not revealing her true form, there was something about her countenance that struck fear in the men’s hearts. Somehow, they could sense that she just might rain fire and brimstone on them if they did not comply. “Be thankful that I went easy on you,” she uttered firmly. “Now, get out of my sight.” The men then left with their tails between their legs. 

“I’ve always wanted to make a dramatic speech like that,” Aziraphale sighed.

“Of course you did.” Crowley shook her head fondly, as Aziraphale made sure that Crowley was unharmed. “That was fucking hot, angel,” the demon added. More softly, she quickly muttered a garbled mess that sounded like “thank you,” which Aziraphale managed to catch.

Aziraphale puffed up her chest proudly. “That’ll teach them! Your beloved nightclub is safe now. I can assure you that they won’t return for it anytime. I’ve blessed the management for extra measure — no, the disco’s not sacred ground; you can still dance here. You actually still can, if you want to, once I unfreeze time.”

Crowley shook her head. “Nah, tonight’s been enough of a wild ride. Take me back to the bookshop?”

“Fine by me. You must be cold in that dress, dear; do have some cocoa with me when we get back. I insist.”

“Well, lead the way, my knight in shining armor… no, lady in a shimmering dress.” At this, Aziraphale giggled. Making their way out of the disco, the angel unfroze time with a snap; she also made sure to erase everyone’s memories of what had just transpired.

True to Aziraphale’s reassurance to Crowley that night, not a single gangster ever made trouble for Midnight Fever again. But despite Aziraphale’s best memory-wiping efforts, a new urban legend was born that night: about two brave and beautiful guardian angels who intimidated a group of gangsters into leaving the disco alone. Was it a mass hallucination, or did the owner make that up as a gimmick? No one could figure out for sure, but people swore that it really happened; why, they (or a friend of a friend) witnessed it with their very own eyes!

Sadly, all good things must come to an end, and divine (and demonic) intervention can only last so long. While disco never quite died out in London, it undoubtedly peaked in the 1970s — and with the changing times, Midnight Fever’s owner decided to branch out into other endeavors. The beloved nightclub eventually shut its doors. But to those who were captivated by this neon-lit, haze-filled hall, it was good while it lasted.

* * *

**Sometime After Apocawasn’t**

“This sure brings back memories. What a shame we didn’t have photographs from that night! Weren’t we lovely then, Crowley?” Not many could start reminiscing the past over the pulsing beats of the music and the flashing lights of a disco nightclub; most would’ve been preoccupied with dancing the night away. But then again, Aziraphale wasn’t most people.

Crowley slipped down his sunglasses to give Aziraphale a playful wink. “Who says we aren’t lovely now, angel?” The flashy demon eyed his angel appreciatively. Aziraphale was wearing a cream-colored disco suit with a collared tartan dress shirt peeking out from underneath. While it was definitely far more subdued than the sparkly ensemble Azira donned several decades back, it was still a departure from Aziraphale’s usual style, especially with the bell-bottoms in place of slacks. 

But Aziraphale wasn’t the only one all decked out for the night; Crowley himself was looking fetching in his tight burgundy shirt — unbuttoned just enough to reveal a hint of chest hair — and equally tight leather pants. He’d even miracled back his silly mustache for the occasion, to Aziraphale’s mock consternation.

After the failed Apocalypse, it was just one surprise after another — surviving their respective executions and moving forward in their relationship were just the beginning. With new generations across the pond discovering disco, the genre became hip again. 

And so, to the delight of those who never quite got over its untimely closing, Midnight Fever announced that it would be reopening, this time under the management of the original owner’s children. The new owners promised to faithfully recreate the disco’s original interiors and ambiance as much as possible — but with a brand-new addition: a painting of the guardian angels that were said to have protected Midnight Fever decades ago.

Tonight marked reopening night, which Crowley wouldn’t miss for the world. He didn’t even have to ask Aziraphale — the angel had offered to join him. “For old time’s sake, right?” Aziraphale said tenderly. “Besides, you’ve always been so gracious, letting me drag you to countless performances and culinary journeys. Let me return the favor.”

Aziraphale continuing his trip down memory lane broke Crowley’s reverie. “If I may say so, frightening those gangsters was jolly good fun! They never knew what hit them!” At the enthusiasm in the angel’s voice, Crowley made a show of rolling his eyes. Oh, how the demon loved seeing his angel’s bastard side, and it was even more endearing — though Crowley was loath to admit it — when his angelic and bastard sides came together so seamlessly, like what had just happened.

“Although… I still can’t dance, let alone dance to disco,” Aziraphale huffed. “We didn’t even get to practice before the grand reopening.” 

As the DJ began playing a new song, Crowley took his angel by the hand and led him to the dance floor. “Not a problem, angel; we’ve got all night to re-learn.”


End file.
